


Rabbit Ears

by loveanddeathandartandtaxes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Magical Realism, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Sherlock Is Not A Werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1501181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveanddeathandartandtaxes/pseuds/loveanddeathandartandtaxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come on then. Go tell Greg what clues he’s missing here. Then we can get back to civilisation and wait for the bodies to get to the morgue.”<br/>“I’m not… I’m not a werewolf,” Sherlock insisted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rabbit Ears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tallenough](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tallenough).



> A late easter Bunnylock fic.

It all came to a head on a golf course in Ilford. Four bloodless bodies were sprawled on improbably balancing rocks - obelisks, John wanted to call them, before Sherlock pre-emptively corrected him.  
  
“Megaliths. It would appear they’ve been very carefully placed, as there’s practically no support from the earth; they’re not dug in at all.”  
  
“Perfectly on the cardinal points, too,” Greg pointed out, his hands shoved into pockets. John detected a sort of mad glee. No doubt it was at having something ridiculous enough to interest Sherlock.  
  
“And the, uh, crop… circle?” John asked hesitantly. Lestrade grinned even wider.  
  
“Not a sign of any of it yesterday. Manager says he locked up around eleven, after a function, and nothing was out of the ordinary. Staff this morning came in to this.”  
  
Walking the circumference, John kept an eye on Sherlock as they both mapped out the area in their own way. Two circular bands, each about a metre wide, were cut concentrically into the land. The megaliths were placed around the inner circle, which John guessed was ten or twelve metres across. If not for the desperate assertion from the club, he could have sworn both the circles and stones had been there for years.  
  
“Alright, Sherlock, can we take the bodies down now?”  
  
“Definitely not. You’ll need to extensively photograph them in situ first, and I would strongly recommend some heavy machinery to hold up the stones when you remove the bodies. They are instrumental to the balance, you know.”  
  
“Christ. Okay. Sally, could you…”  
  
She pulled out her phone.  
  
“On it.”

 

“Any thoughts?” John murmured to Sherlock, as they stood alone on the far side of the circles.  
  
“Six regarding this. Two are substantially more likely than the others.”  
  
“And have you,” he asked carefully, knowing he would sound crazy to an outsider. “Considered extraterrestrial activity?”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “You mean aliens.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, John, there’s no such thing as aliens.”  
  
He nodded and rocked back on his feet.  
  
“Well, I never really thought there was. Then again, I never really thought there was such thing as werewolves, either.”  
  
He said this low and casually, and there was no-one to hear them, but Sherlock stiffened and paled considerably. Silence thickened in the air between them.  
  
“I… don’t know what you… mean. Of course werewolves don’t exist?”  
  
When he wasn’t prepared for it, Sherlock was a terrible liar. John shrugged.  
  
“I dunno. I figured you knew that I knew. Every four weeks or so you take your sulking to your bedroom instead of the couch for a couple days - you’re not the only one who can notice patterns. Then you take an exceptionally long shower and I find fur - _fur_ , Sherlock, not hair - clogging up the drain. Honestly.”  
  
He looked up at his friend, unable to keep himself from smiling at the blank shock on Sherlock’s face. When it didn’t resolve itself, however, he clapped him on the arm.  
  
“Come on then. Go tell Greg what clues he’s missing here. Then we can get back to civilisation and wait for the bodies to get to the morgue.”  
  
“I’m not… I’m not a werewolf,” Sherlock insisted.

 

* * *

 

John let Sherlock pretend their conversation on the golf course never happened. Whatever was up with him, they’d lived around it for long enough without discussing it, and he’d rather not make Sherlock uncomfortable.  
  
After a fortnight or so, however, John received a text shortly after waking in the morning.

 

 

> Would you like to know about my alleged werewolf traits? -SH

  
He flopped onto his back as he clutched his phone and sighed.

 

 

 

> _What?_

 

 

 

> _Come to my room. - SH_

  
John pulled on some jeans and descended the stairs warily. The door to Sherlock’s room was shut, as it never was except for those few days every month. He knocked, waited a second, and entered before either of them had a chance to think better of it. Sherlock lay tangled in his bedding, and while his head was covered by a sheet, a foot - perfectly human, although just as oversized as his hands - poked out from the bottom.

“Sherlock?” he murmured, wondering if he had by some chance fallen asleep in the three minutes since sending the texts.

“I’m awake. This… may have been an error.”

“What was?” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he twisted a little to look at the part of the sheet covering Sherlock’s face.

“You have no idea how strongly I can smell your scent right now,” was the baffling response.

Fingers peeked over the hem of the sheet, pushing it down just enough to reveal the tips of soft-looking ears. “This is not, as you may have noticed, in any way related to the lunar cycle. It’s entirely _hormonal_.” The last word was spat with more than a little vitriol, but when he spoke again his voice was much more tremulous. “Nor am I at all… lupine. Do you really want to know?”

“I want to know everything about you, Sherlock,” John said honestly. He wondered briefly if insecurity about this whatever-it-was was what kept Sherlock from closing the distance whenever they swayed towards each other in quiet moments.

“You mustn't laugh.” Slowly the sheet inched further down the velvety almost-black ears, and further still, and John began to realise that _obviously_ these were not wolf ears. Revealing his face, Sherlock inhaled deeply and John wondered momentarily if there had been some transformation of his eyes as well. A second later he realised they were simply dark with super-dilated pupils.

“Rabbit ears,” he breathed, a hand unconsciously reaching out to touch. As soon as he noticed, he snatched it back.

“No, you can… you can touch,” Sherlock assured him. A quiet noise escaped John’s mouth when his fingertips made contact; the fur was _beyond_ soft. He let himself stroke right to the tip of the thin flesh, immediately returning to bury his hand in Sherlock’s hair, repeating the movement. Sherlock arched his back and writhed against the sheets.

“ _John_.”

[ ](http://practicefortheheart.tumblr.com/post/95854526824/you-mustnt-laugh-slowly-the-sheet-inched)

John jerked back.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock sounded drunk, or possibly high.

“It’s a, ah, side effect? I am _swimming_ in hormones right now, it’s very distracting.” He glared at John. “Don’t _stop_.”

Hesitantly he tangled his fingers in Sherlock’s curls, scratching gently at the base of his ear. He had to ask, although he had little doubt what the answer would be.

“Are you, uh - Sherlock, are you aroused?”

Sherlock gripped John’s thigh, and inhaled deeply through his nose. He sniffed a few more times.

“Aren't you?”

For a second John couldn't breathe. The answer came easily, though.

“God, Sherlock. Of course I am.”

“Then why are you _all the way over there_?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I’m just wondering what happens after this passes.”

Sherlock whined.

“Then I lose them and the exquisite hearing, and -”

“No, Sherlock. Come on. What _happens_.”

“Then you will take my hormone-free insistence that you move into this room more seriously than anything I could say now. Please John, I am burning up!”

John took pity and caressed Sherlock’s face.

“Tell me more?” he asked, a little teasing. “These gorgeous ears don’t really account for the volume of fur I get to fish out of the tub. Do you…” He swallowed painfully. “Is there a… tail?”

Suddenly Sherlock was twisting and thrashing against the sheets that still covered most of his body, tearing off his shirt.

“Yes, yes, John, tail, would you like to see?” He flung the thin cotton away and it was the long curve of Sherlock’s bare back, really, more than anything else, that made John’s mouth water. Perched at the base of his spine, just above the swell of his _bare_ arse, was his tail, as dark as his ears on the top, upturned and fluffy and tawny underneath. John gulped air.

“You’re not _touching_ me, why are you not touching me? John, you smell so _good_ , why don’t you - you said you’re aroused!”

“This close to you - naked you - in a bed, writhing round like a cat in heat… how could I not be turned on? Christ, love, it’s bad enough when we’re running around London like madmen, fully clothed.”

With furrowed brows, Sherlock appeared to think very hard.

“So it’s not… because of… this? You _often_ get aroused by… me?”

“ _Constantly_ ,” John assured him.

“Oh,” said Sherlock. “I had thought my heat would trigger something similar in you; I hadn't accounted for… that.”

Running a hand right down the length of his spine to cup and caress his tail, John pressed a dry kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder blade. “Idiot,” he murmured, then “No, hang on, your heat? You really are in heat?”

Sherlock groaned, long and low.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’m an idiot. Here,” John soothed, “I’m touching you now.” And he did, sinking his fingers through fluffy fur, right to the base of Sherlock’s tail, then trailing them down a little further, into the cleft of his arse. Sherlock gasped and bucked his hips, rutting into his mattress.

“John, John, now, please.”

“Fuck, Sherlock, I won’t without any prepara-”

“Something; anything, but _now_.”

Sherlock groped around under his pillows and pushed the bottle of lube he found at him. John wrestled off his clothes and slicked himself, holding Sherlock down with firm hands on his lower back as he straddled his thighs. Lowering himself so he blanketed Sherlock entirely, he shifted his hips until his cock slotted between the cheeks of Sherlock’s arse. He could feel the brush of downy fur against his belly.

Carefully he thrust a little, sliding against hot skin into delicate fur. It tickled the head of his cock. Sherlock keened.

“Again.”

Unable to do anything else, he obeyed, and at Sherlock’s request/demand, did so again, harder, faster. Again. More.

With a shout and a shudder, Sherlock came hard underneath him. John’s hips stuttered and pushed into Sherlock, and then he was spilling into the soft fur.

He collapsed to one side, and in an instant Sherlock was on him, trailing fingertips delicately over his face.

“G’morning,” John murmured, aware he was grinning helplessly. Sherlock huffed and lightly pressed their foreheads and noses together.

“Good morning. Don’t go back to sleep, I’d rather like to go again shortly. If you’d like.”

There was no way he couldn't giggle.

“We’ll be at it like rabbits, won’t we?”

Sherlock’s smile was radiant. John threw an arm around him, reaching down to toy with his tail, now a little sticky, as he finally, finally, kissed his perfect mouth. When Sherlock gasped, John licked into his mouth briefly before tipping his head up slightly to kiss the tip of his nose.

“How shortly?”

**Author's Note:**

> so, so many thanks to bittersweet_art for help getting this written, and everyone bow down at practicefortheheart's feet on tumblr in awe of her awesome adorable art.


End file.
